


little truths

by questionably_fortunate_bamboo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Jon dies in the War for the Dawn, Post-Series, it's ambiguous kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionably_fortunate_bamboo/pseuds/questionably_fortunate_bamboo
Summary: “Lyanna’s gone missing again,” says Sansa. “I can’t find her anywhere.”There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is coming loose from its messy braid. She’s been having nightmares again. Despite her best attempts to hide it, Jaime always knows. He’s learned how to see the small nuances which show her internal suffering.





	little truths

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here for Jonsa, you probably won't like this? Sorry! This was kinda sudden. I wrote it in four days, just out of sudden inspiration. Enjoyyyy!

“Lyanna’s gone missing again,” says Sansa. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

There are dark circles under her eyes, and her hair is coming loose from its messy braid. She’s been having nightmares again. Despite her best attempts to hide it, Jaime always knows. He’s learned how to see the small nuances which show her internal suffering.

Today, she’s wearing her dark blue and grey dress with a silver pin, along with her needle necklace and fur cloak. He can smell a dash of rose oil as she walks past him.

Blue and grey dress means that she’s been thinking about her mother (Catelyn Stark always wore blue and grey). Silver pin means she has a council meeting later (she tends to fidget with her pins while she’s trying to figure out how to handle pressing matters of state). Needle necklace means she’s feeling defensive, on-edge, or unsafe (probably because of the nightmares). Fur cloak means she’s lonely, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Rose oil is different, though. Usually, Sansa wears lilac oil. Jaime wonders about what the subtle change means.

“Do you think she’s alright? If she wasn’t wearing her cloak, she might be cold. Maester Wolkan said there’s a chill going through Winter Town. I don’t want her to get sick-”

“Sansa.” Jaime holds up his hand. “As your sworn shield, I feel it’s my duty to tell you that you’re worrying too much. Lya’s a smart girl, she’ll be fine. Stay here. I’ll look for her.”

Sansa sighs and sits on the edge of her bed, twiddling her necklace between her fingers. “I’m a terrible mother.”

“No, you’re not. Give me twenty minutes. I’ll be right back.”

She sighs, but nods. “She’ll probably be down near the stables. I heard her talking about the ponies.”

Jaime bows and leaves her in her chambers, but he doesn’t bother going to the stables. He already knows where Lyanna is.

The crypts are cold and dark. It’s the one part of Winterfell that he still hasn’t grown accustomed to. He always has the creeping feeling that he’s not supposed to be there. The old Kings of Winter with their faithful stone direwolf companions seem to stare at him as he walks past.

At the far end, there are several more familiar statues. He recognizes Rickard, Brandon, Lyanna, and Eddard Stark. There’s a statue of Robb Stark as well, but Jaime pointedly looks away. The very last one is almost completely cloaked by darkness. A little figure is perched on the pedestal, kicking her heels against the cold stone.

“You’ve got to stop running away, Little Wolf.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Your mother doesn’t know where you are.”

“But you do.” Lyanna smiles at him in her carefree, summery way. “Please don’t tell mama. I just wanted to see papa.”

The stone imitation of Jon Snow isn’t very faithful. The sculptors have gotten his forehead wrong, and he’s much taller than he was in real life. But it’s the memory that counts, Jaime supposes, and there’s plenty of memory. He’s never had much of a taste for heroes, but the King in the North was a hero until the bitter, freezing end.

Lyanna is too young to understand that her father died to save the world. She’s only known a world without him, and that’s far worse than not knowing at all.

“I won’t tell her, I promise, but would you tell me what’s the matter?” Jaime says. Her smile fades into a faraway stare.

“Mama says he loved me. I don’t think he did. If he loved me, why did he go away?”

Jaime might give Jon Snow a good kick in the ribs if he were alive.  _Look at you,_ he thinks.  _Dead and gone and buried, still giving your wife and your daughter all this sadness after five years. You never deserved them, no matter how much you loved them. You’ll never deserve them._

“He loved you very much, Little Wolf, and that’s why he had to leave. Sometimes leaving is the hardest thing to do. Sometimes there’s no choice. But what’s important is that we remember the people who left us.”

“Did somebody leave you?”

_Too many._

“My mama did.” Jaime swallows hard and forces a half-smile. “I was very little, just like you. I don’t remember her much.”

When they were children, Tyrion had often asked about Joanna Lannister.  _Was she pretty? Did she like stories? What did her voice sound like?_  Jaime had answered the questions, but it grew harder with time. When he was ten, he could clearly remember how his mother had smiled and walked and laughed. He could close his eyes and see her face against the blue of the ocean as the sun set over the sea.

But then ten turned into fifteen, and he remembered a bit less. Maybe his mother had preferred red over gold, or maybe it was gold over red. Fifteen turned into twenty, the years passed, and now all he can remember is her smile.

Her smile was all good. Not like his father’s or Cersei’s. There was no cruelty or hate in Joanna Lannister’s smile. When she smiled, the world had seemed less terrible and ominous. That smile has become a part of him, just like his bones, blood, and skin. He might be Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man Without Honor, but he is also mama’s smile.

It’s been years and years, and he misses her all the same.

“You’re sad now,” says Lya, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to be sad.”

She hops off of the pedestal and wraps her arms around his legs in a tight hug. Jaime kneels down, ruffling her auburn curls before he places a kiss on the top of her head.

“Chin up, Little Wolf,” he says, tapping her nose.

“Chin up, Uncle Lion!” She returns the gesture with a giggle.

She doesn’t know who he is or what he’s done, not truly. But it’s the moments when she smiles and laughs that remind him there’s good inside every person, even though it’s so hard to look inside yourself and find it.

“Are you ready to go back?” he asks quietly.

Lyanna nods and holds his good hand. She tells him about the new ponies in the stables as they return to the courtyard. Her favorites are two grey fillies with black noses, which she’s named Lemon and Apple. Sansa is teaching her how to braid, and she’s eager to put little ribbons and ornaments in their manes.

“Would you put ribbons in my hair if I asked?”

“Your hair isn’t long enough! You’d look so silly, and- mama, mama!”

Sansa spins around and sighs in relief, leaving behind a few of her counselors to rush over to them.

“Oh, Lya, there you are! I was so worried. Come here, little love,” Sansa says, scooping her daughter into her arms.

“I’m alright, mama,” she says. “I’d never leave you. Never ever.”

“My sweet girl, of course you wouldn’t.”

“Can we go see the ponies now?” Lyanna asks sweetly.

“Yes, Lya, just wait a moment.” Sansa sets her down and turns to Jaime.

“You don’t need to-”

“Thank you,” she whispers. Her fingers brush against his. The slight touch sends sparks along his skin. “Thank you, Jaime, I mean it.”

“Mama, come on!”

“Coming, darling!” She turns away from him with an apologetic glance.

“Sansa?” he calls after her just a second later. He should be saying  _your grace-_  it’s not proper for the Queen in the North’s sworn sword to go around acting as if he _knows_  her (even though he does, gods damn it, he’s allowed a shred of happiness in the world and her name is  _Sansa_ , not  _your grace)_.

“What is it?” she asks. Her hair catches in the sunlight, shining like the many hues of dawn and dusk. She is summer fierceness and winter words wrapped into an autumn body, with the faintest spring hope in every small move of her hands.

He can’t bring himself to say it. One day, maybe. There’s still time.

“The rose oil suits you.”

She smiles faintly and returns to her daughter.  _Rose oil doesn’t mean anything,_  Jaime tells himself.

But she wears the rose oil again the next day, and perhaps it means something after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I really like writing Jaime and Sansa, and I'm planning on doing more of them. Leave your thoughts- comments are always appreciated!


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